The Masseuse
by UniqaChica
Summary: What Nat really needs is a therapist. Rated 'cause I'm paranoid.


(A/N: Okay, I literally got this idea in the middle of the night, and lost sleep to write it down, so you better be happy. Enjoy!)

Summary: What Nat really needs is a therapist. Rated 'cause I'm paranoid.

Disclaimer: The Avengers are owned by Marvel, not me.

The Masseuse

A Clint/Natasha Fanfic

by Jill Diamond

"So what's the latest over at Avengers Central? Stark and the Cap still clawing at each others' throats?"

"Heh, most of the time, yeah. But then Fury reels 'em back to their corners and it's like nothing ever happened."

"How is Fury, anyhow?"

"Still kicking butt and taking names, even more so than usual, if you can believe it. Sometimes I think Hill's ready to wring his neck."

"Dr. Banner?"

"He's good. I still worry about him when Stark's in the room, but he does seem to be more in control."

"Thor?"

"Haven't really seen him much. Think he's trying to track down his girlfriend or something."

"Hm, wouldn't she be a lucky girl."

He hummed a response as he focused on kneading the bases of his thumbs into her shoulders.

"And what about Agent Barton? How's he doing?"

"I'm doing just fine, thank you."

The two fell into a comfortable silence, Natasha staring at the wall and Clint's hands gently grazing over her back.

"I missed you," he added, nonchalantly.

She locked up that sentence deep inside her somewhere, but gave no serious physical sign of such.

The Avengers had been meeting as of late, trying to trump the latest world threat with what little information that SHIELD could gather from tapping security cameras. The Black Widow had once again been called back in from freelance, but she had demanded a day off before Fury could get another word out of his mouth, and leave it to Clint to pop over to her apartment to make sure that she was actually taking it. Her previous assignment hadn't been particularly hard, especially not for someone with her skills, but it had been particularly draining. She felt like she hadn't slept in two weeks, or that she could for the next two. Her eyes couldn't stay closed for longer than three seconds. Her partner had suggested a massage to try and relax her, and that's where they were – he on top of the covers, legs folded under him, and she on her stomach, with the covers drawn up to her waist.

She could feel one of his fingers gingerly follow a light scar down the length of her back, but effortlessly return to her shoulder as if nothing had happened.

She smiled against her pillow. This was one of the things that she appreciated about him. He was still a human; still a red-blooded male. She had seen agents turn into complete robots within weeks of working for SHIELD (she sometimes feared that she had turned as well). It was refreshing to see someone who still had a personality in this line of work, even if he was a bit of a perv.

Her lids dropped, but, once again, she couldn't keep them there.

"Mm...God, I'm so tired," she griped, as if her lack of energy was someone else's fault entirely.

"That's why you need to relax," Clint repeated in the same gentle, unfazed tone he had been using for the last half hour.

"What do you think I'm trying to do here?" Natasha raised her voice, and then caught herself before something escaped that she would regret later. She smeared a tear from her irritated eye down the side of her face, the contact only wanting more desperately for her eyes to shut. But for some reason, even with the lulling ministrations from her partner, she just couldn't. "I think I'm good for now," she announced in an unintentionally husky voice.

Clint pulled his hands away from her exposed back. She slowly crawled up from her stomach to a suitable sitting position and slowly pulled the top half of her skimpy nightgown back over her chest. Clint's eyes couldn't help but follow her curves and try to peek at what she was unsuccessfully trying to cover as her arms rose.

"Clint. _Stop_."

"Sorry," he mumbled, quickly casting his eyes to her wrinkled bedspread with a sniff.

With the straps properly smoothed against her shoulders, she shuffled around to face him.

"You okay?"

He didn't ask because he wanted to know; he just hated silence where he had to look in her eyes.

She casually grazed an itch on her arm as she tried to produce an answer. Slowly, she felt blood in her head thump loudly to her pulse.

"No." There was a low break in her voice as she threw herself up from her bed and into her bathroom. Hovering over the sink, she shoved the cold tap to its farthest setting and splashed water against her face. "Hell..." Leaving the sink running, she rested her forehead in her palms and stared at the drain. Her scarlet tendrils hung listlessly around her face like a curtain, trying to shade her from outside life. He was silent, but she could sense his presence against the door frame.

"I hate this," she whispered. "It's stupid, but...I keep thinking about him. I mean..."

"He wasn't exactly a small sacrifice." His voice was quiet and poignant. She sniffed in blind concurrence.

"...I wasn't the guy's best friend or anything, but he was just...always _there_. I...it just...he was a good kid."

"Yeah..." The word was no more than a breath.

"I was completely off my game that day, you can't forgive me-"

"I can and already have."

"I got scared," she continued, barely registering that he had interrupted her. "When was the last time that I was _scared?_ It...it's just stupid, because I was already freaking out 'cause Loki kept trying to use you against me and I was losing my head, but I can't-"

"Natasha, for once in your life, take your own advice and stop putting blame on yourself. No one could have predicted this would happen." It was a comforting kind of scold.

Without sobs and without pretense, tears began spilling down her face. She scraped the first away, but let the rest fall and mix with the water already on her cheeks.

Two arms, tight with muscles and scars, wrapped around her front and pressed her flush to his chest in some attempt of a hug. A noise in protest escaped her mouth, mostly from exhaustion, but quickly she succumbed. His heartbeat against her back melted her tensions more than any massage could. She felt his mouth against her hair, unwavering, simply as a place to rest. He held her close, as close as he knew she wanted to be, only moving his thumb in a subconscious stroke against her bare arm.

She felt herself getting smaller in his embrace, and, for once, she didn't complain.

Another thing that she appreciated about Clint (even though she didn't appreciate it until it was over) was that, with him, she could have emotions. She could cry, and he would understand, and he wouldn't breathe a word of it outside of that moment. She appreciated that there was a level of security in her most insecure moments.

"I missed you, too."

"I'm gonna stay with you tonight." There was authority in the words, but not in his tone.

"...Okay."

_The End_

(A/N: Wow, I have got to stop making Nat cry in my stories. I need some happy Nat. Happy Natasha? Is that possible? Eh. Reviews make me feel fuzzy. Hope you enjoyed!)


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